But 'Forward, Monsieur!' came the grating order.

I fell to earth again, and went on.

What was to be done?
I was at my wits' end to know.

The man refused to talk, refused to ride abreast of me, would have no dismounting, no halting, no communication at all.

He would have nothing but this silent, lonely procession of two, with the muzzle of his gun at my back.